The Unwritten Pages
by Zaydee Kaine
Summary: Each chapter is a story behind one of the stories presented in the Harry Potter series. Voldemorts chat with the Gray Lady, Snape delivering the Sword of Gryffindor, etc. Each is a story not presented in the written series nor on Pottermore and they serve to help fill in the gaps of what happened yet remains unwritten (officially by JK herself anyways).
1. SS: Severus meets Harry Potter

He had never seen the boy before. Never so much as a photograph. How could he? Lily had stopped speaking to him nearly five years before the boy was born anyways so there was no way he would have seen the boy in real life or in a photo. Besides, 11-year-old Harry Potter probably looked loads differently than baby Harry Potter. But he looked so remarkably like his father. Snape was torn.

This was Lily's son. It was never like Severus to be affectionate or tender to young children. He wanted to strengthen their mind with academia, not strengthening their emotional well being. But this was Lily's son; the only woman who had ever cared for him, his childhood friend.

But he looked so much like James. That arrogant bastardization of a wizard who had bullied him up until they left Hogwarts. And then he had married Severus' sweetheart! Not that they had talked for many years at that point, but still. She was the only one Severus had ever wanted or needed.

In a world where he found acceptance among the dark arts, she was like a rope. It was like his life was lived in the water, and when she was there, he could break the surface and breath in fresh air. But when he was consumed with the dark arts, its like he was being dragged down by a cement block tied to his feet. Once she had died hwoever, the chain had been cut. But her rope of warmth had been taken too. He spent life floating in the water, not dragged down deeper, but not pulled to the surface either. He lay floating in nothingness, surrounded by the cold and loneliness.

So it was not he who was going to be kind to this child of James and Lily as he saw Harry Potter enter the Great Hall for the first time. He could never let anybody know how his affection for Harry Potter's mother. He would be laughed out of the castle. So he remained unfeeling and even a little cruel towards the 11-year-old even as he grew older, helping him in ways that were so clever they remained off the radar for seven years.

That evening, Severus did something he hadn't in many years. He removed the floorboard from under his desk to reveal a hiding spot. Inside it was a bundle wrapped in a red scarf with orange stars. He unwrapped it, the scent of her long faded from the material. Wrapped in the scarf was a bundle of letters with a photo on the bottom. He untied the bundle, not needing to read the dozen or so letters of summer correspondence that he had kept. Severus crossed his legs on the floor of his office and sat hunched over with one of his elbows on his knee, his chin in the palm of his hand while his other hand held the picture up in the flickering light of the fireplace.

It was a photo of he and Lily, the only one he had. She had used her brand new MX350 magical camera to take a Polaroid of them in the entrance hall of Hogwarts just before the last Hogsmeade trip of the year. He was wrapped in a scarf so thick that it covered his mouth and he wore a black beanie with his cloak wrapped tightly around him. She was wearing the red and gold starred scarf and had her red trellises hanging down freely and swept over one shoulder. She was wearing a turtleneck under her traveling cloak. She was smiling and nudging his shoulder, and though he looked slightly irritated, he nudged her back playfully with his and she laughed, biting her lip and nudging him again. Over and over the scene repeated. She had written on the back, "Severus & Me, '73."

He did his best not to let the tears stain the photograph and ruin its perfect image of her smiling up at him.


	2. GoF: Snape's Torture

Pain. Excruciating pain in his left forearm. He slammed the palm of his hand against the dark mark that was hidden under his black coat and inhaled sharply, eyes closing hard. They opened a second later to see blue eyes two seats over gazing at him above half moon spectacles. Severus gritted his teeth and nodded his head twice, wrinkles on his forehead as his brows creased together from the pain of being summoned. Dumbledore gave a calm downward nod and sat back in his seat, hands remaining calmly clasped together as he sat with the other teachers in the bleachers, awaiting the arrival of the winners of the Triwizard Tournament from the maze.

"_And here we have six missing Death Eaters… three dead in my service. One, too cowardly to return… he will pay. One, who I believe has left me forever… he will be killed, of course… and one, who remains my most faithful servant, and who has already reentered my service."_

_"Severus," said Dumbledore, turning to Snape, "you know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready… if you are prepared…"_

_ "I am," said Snape._

_ He looked slightly paler than usual, and his cold, black eyes glittered strangely._

_ "Then good luck," said Dumbledore, and he watched, with a trace of apprehension on his face, as Snape swept wordlessly after Sirius._

Severus Snape did not, in fact, follow after Sirius. Instead, he made a sharp left turn and went to his office. Quick footsteps were nearly as silent as his billowing cloak as he walked the familiar stone path to his office whose shadowy walls were lined with shelves of large glass jars filled with slimy bits of plants and animals floating in potions of varying colors. He plucked his traveling cloak from the claw-footed coat rack and walked rapidly towards the front gates of the grounds, ignoring the thronging crowd that was gossiping in huddled masses they wound their way back to the castle.

He was consumed by fear as he swept over green grass, avoiding students at all costs as his pace quickened on the down slope. It was fear that the Dark Lord would not hear him out. Fear of being killed before he told his side of the story. Fear of the Dark Lord looking in to his mind and seeing too much. He was already preparing himself for the painful onslaught of occlumency he was about to endure when there were certain things he had to keep hidden. If he returned, there was no doubt in his mind that he would be tortured. But what would cause his death, as well as the unwilling discharge of information on the Order of the Phoenix, was the Dark Lord looking deep in to Severus' mind and finding the memories that he hid so well. He'd hidden them before, and was prepared to do it again. If the Dark Lord found Lily Evans and was in the middle of a rampage, which Severus did not doubt he currently was…

Severus couldn't think about that right now. He couldn't think about her right now, not at this moment as the pillars of winged boars approached. He passed through the gates and turned on the spot in to squeezing darkness.

His feet hit dirt on a country lane and turning to his right, Severus saw the wrought iron gates flanked by tall hedges. The gates were closed, and he assumed he was not permitted entrance. But he had to wait only a few seconds before he heard the familiar voice of Nott.

"You shouldn't have come, Snape" he spat Severus' name, his mouth turned up in a sneer with wrinkles around his nostrils.

"Allow me entrance so I may speak to the Dark Lord." He demanded, his voice unwavering and hollow of emotion.

"Oh, he'll do more than speak to you." He waved his wand and Severus was able to walk through the bars that had now become nothing but grey smoke. Nott followed him up the drive.

"You dare show your face?"

"My Lord," Severus fell to knees at the sight of Lord Voldemort. Snape was in awe to see him living and breathing in front of him. Lord Voldemort looked as if he hadn't changed one bit. His eyes were tightly almond shaped and his nostrils were slits; his skin was a pale, almost a grey color. And in his hand he held a wand.

Severus didn't even hear the Cruciatus curse as it shot pain through his body. Every nerve was singed, the smell of burning skin filling his nostrils and he wanted more than anything to ask for death and confess his sins. Then the pain stopped and he opened his eyes to find he had fallen on to the cold stone floor of the Malfoy's entryway. The other death eaters stood around, waiting to fulfill any order given to them.

"Permit me to speak," he was winded as he pleaded. He hated pleading; it was what all the other disappointments in the ranks did.

Again he was hit with pain so fiery hot he longed for death and he was thrown on to his back, head hitting the floor hard. This time he screamed for minutes. When the curse was lifted his entire body ached and his head throbbed with a bump that had already begun to grow. Every muscle felt like he had been dueling for hours while using every ounce of physical and magical energy.

"Please, my Lord" he whispered, rolling on to his side again to try to sit up. His mind was weak but the cold stones beneath his hands helped him get control of himself and ground him. He would be ready when hit with the Legilimens charm.

Voldemort was not used to Severus sniveling and begging. "Speak," came his high, cold voice and it echoed in the chamber.

"I could not come-"

"Lies." Again he was tortured and again he screamed, the pain so bad he could not even plead for death. He screamed on his back as his fellow Death Eaters watched and stood unmoving. Then he caught his breath and felt the cold stone beneath him. He groaned.

"How could I have come and still be your servant?"

Severus was splayed on his back and Voldemort stood near his feet, out of sight. And though he was out of sight, he was listening.

"Had I come," Severus pushed himself quickly on to the submissive position of his knees, hands on the tops of his thighs. His eyes were half lidded, trying to regain his mental capacities as he spoke for he knew what was going to happen even after his speech. "I would not be able to serve you at Hogwarts any longer. A known supporter of the Dark Lord disappearing when called… The old fool would have known where I went, known my betrayal. I would have been of no use to you had I come immediately. That was why I had to wait until dismissed to leave the grounds."

Voldemort had been circling slowly around as Severus spoke, listening to his words. "And he will not know you are here now?"

"He will not know." He confirmed. "Dumbledore is talking to the Minister as we speak." He paused, searching how to phrase it. He was bracing himself for more torture, his body rigid as if that would help block the pain. "Crouch Jr…. has received the Kiss… from the Dementors."

He was thrown in to searing pain once again since it was Voldemorts custom to kill the messenger. When the pain stopped it was replaced by an intense sensation of being penetrated down to his soul. All the memories of the past fourteen years came flooding forward, the Dark Lord drinking them in and Snape gave them willingly. His body lurched forward, his eyes locked on the Dark Lords red ones as he bore down on Severus Snape. Being so willing to give his memories allowed for him to hide those that the Dark Lord could never know; the memories that would get him killed on the spot, but only after Lord Voldemort had extracted each and every last one.

He was released from the memories of the mundane: the great feasts, the evenings spent in his office, the trifles of children. Severus still withheld those of the Order. He felt his knees bruised and cold on the stone floor as he knelt pleading with the Dark Lord.

Lord Voldemort looked down at the Death Eater who he had thought had left him forever, the one he had intended to kill.

"My lord," he bowed to kiss Voldemorts feet. "Torture me my lord if you must for I only wish it had been I who had found you. If only I had sought you out myself-"

"But you didn't."

He shook his head remorsefully, his body once again rigid. If he didn't tense every muscle in his body, he thought he might begin trembling like all the other blubbering Death Eaters. He refused to cower like them. "And for that I should be punished."

"Yes" he turned his wand on Severus again.


	3. DH: Escape from Malfoy Manor

The boy had gotten away. Againa. And again he was called. And again he was too late. How was it so hard to keep the boy in one spot? Were they all so incompetent? First Godric's Hollow and then Malfoy Manor. Even the blubbering Pettigrew managed to keep the boy in place while he, the darkest of all wizards, was born through pain and fire in to a new body. Yet how was it that the one he trusted above all others and the family who had given up their home to the cause were unable to keep the boy locked up even for a few minutes? He didn't ask.

The Cruciatus Curse was nothing to be trifled with. Even the worst spell caster would bring the victim of such a curse to screaming on their knees in pain. But when it was the Dark Lord with his experienced hand, he could contour the pain.

To a chorus of screaming from Bellatrix, Narcissa, Draco and Fenrir, Lucius was lifted off the ground. It would feel to him like invisible hooks had been pushed through his Achilles tendon and he was being hoisted upside down in to the air. The Dark Lord would have loved for the little rat to still be alive; he would have saved a harsh punishment for the traitor. But alas, he had been killed by his own hand, literally, so Voldemort was spared the extra effort.

Bellatrix's screams were suddenly silenced as she was thrown onto her back and felt the weight of hundreds of stones crushing down on her entire body, no room left in her windpipe for screams. Narcissa's screams intensified to echo her husbands, her body cut by thousands of invisible razors. The cuts were deep, though all her major arteries remained intact while she bled through her royal silk robes. They were black so the blood could barely be seen spotting through the material as she screamed in pain in a pool of her own blood. Draco was next and he felt red hot needles being pushed through his skin. The pain didn't just go as deep as his skin, it touched nerves deep in to his muscles so that it felt as though he were being struck by lightning for seconds at a time, and then minutes. And the clock ticked on.

The torture went on sd Fenrir screaming ehrn he felt himself being boiled alive. Lucius got one more hook in each wrist and felt as though the hooks at his Achilles heel and in his wrists would pull his arms and legs out of their sockets. Voldemort eased Bellatrix's suffering only enough to allow her to gasp for breath or come back to consciousness before she felt the crushing weight bear down upon her again.

In the end they would be left with no physical scars. Narcissa's wounds would magically heal, there would be no boils on Fenrir and Bellatrix would wake from unconsciousness not to feel the weight bearing down upon her again. They were then sentenced to house arrest so they could be watched more closely not only by the Dark Lord himself but other Death Eaters who came and went as they pleased. In the night, the Malfoys and Bellarix would lick their emotional wounds, and when Bellatrix dozed the Malfoys would comfort each other as only a family whose grown together can do in times of hardship.


	4. DH: Severus and the Sword of Gryffindor

The fire was barely keeping the cold at bay in the Headmasters office with the shadow of the Phoenix Patronus sprouted up before his eyes. Pale face hidden by a curtain of black hair looked up from a slouched position, grasping the quill tighter in his hand since it had slacked as he had dozed off. Sleep was a luxury these days, and when it came it was unpleasant.

He looked up with black eyes and saw the Phoenix on the edge of his desk, brows that seemed permanently creased together slackening at the sight of something familiar. The Phoenix stared at him knowingly as the impetuous bird had always done, except now it was bluish and pulsing, like a portkey. He stared at it for only a second before springing from his seat, taking no mind of the large black line drawn across the essay he had been writing from when he had dozed at his desk. The Headmaster plucked his cloak from the cloak rack by the door and cared only to fasted the top button.

He then strode to the portrait of Albus Dumbledore that loomed over the large leather chair he had only been sitting in seconds prior. He felt along the left edge of the portrait with delicate fingers that were so accustomed to fixing and pouring potions ingredients. He felt the small notch and pressed his finger in, pulling the portrait so it swung forward. Behind the portrait lay a bundle of cloth in a small alcove cut out of the stone. Severus reached in and felt for the hilt of the sword, pulling it free from its wrappings. The Sword of Gryffindor gleamed magnificently even in the dull light of the fireplace and the one candle that burned low on the desk.

He replaced the portrait lest somebody enter while he was not there; specifically, the Carrows or the Dark Lord himself. He turned to the bird and it flew gracefully up, and then dived head first in to his chest. He could feel it and it felt hot. Once it was inside him, he knew exactly where to go, and he knew it would take him exactly where he needed to be.

It was bitterly cold; he should have worn a scarf. He couldn't see anything or hear anybody, but the boy was here. Stupid Harry Potter who had not yet taken down the Dark Lord. Granted, Severus wanted nothing more than to serve. But everything had been mucked up. He wanted to serve the Dark Lord under his own terms, yet even after Albus' death, he was still serving the organizer of the Order of the Phoenix. All he wanted was to serve the Dark Lord guilt free and be rewarded for his undying support. But he reminded himself not to think of that now. He had to get the boy out of his hiding spot; most likely behind protection charms.

He did not know where the boy was, but he was near. He considered using _Homenum Revelio,_ however what if he was awake? If the boy was, as Severus assumed, in a tent and asleep, he spell would pass by him with no problems. He took his chances, waving his wand in a sweeping motion as he thought the spell. To the left of him were two human presences. And farther off behind him was another human, probably a snatcher. He would have to be careful.

This couldn't be easy because nothing worth winning was ever won with easy, especially when it came to such powerful magical items. So he wouldn't make it easy on the boy; if he was truly "The Chosen One," he was going to have to earn that name.

_Minimus lumos_. His wand lit very faintly and Severus set off in the opposite direction of Potters encampment, crunching across frozen ground. He entered a small clearing, one of many, and saw a pool deep enough to completely submerge the sword but shallow enough to see it if the boy had his wits about him and decided to illuminate his path with magic versus going blindly after magic who thinks for itself even though he wouldn't see where it keeps its brain.

"_Diffindo_" he cast without speaking, but his breath still rose like smoke in the air, and the ice below him splintered completely. He lowered the sword over the pool and then pushed it as hard as he could. Its sharp point slid easily in to the sand below, tilted slightly so when the boy got close, he would see the silver cross of the hilt.

"_Reparo_" and the ice had repaired itself. He then backed away about fifteen feet or so, vanishing his snowy footsteps after himself as he positioned himself behind two large oaks. It was the perfect place to watch yet remain hidden. He pulled the hood of his cloak over his head.

He assumed that since it was night time, Harry Potter would be awake and on alert. _Or perhaps_, Severus thought,_ I'm giving the pompous prat too much credit._

"Expecto Patronum" he cast out loud and the silver-white doe sprouted powerfully from his wand, moon-bright and dazzling in front of him. She held her head high and he coaxed her off in to the darkness, sending her to do his bidding. He stood freezing on the spot but the cold hardly bothered him as he lowered his head.

It would be over soon. He didn't know how he knew it, but he did. He didn't know why Dumbledore wanted him to hide the sword, or how Dumbledore had sent a shadow of his Patronus to Snape at that exact moment, or how it had led him to exactly the spot he needed to be in. Whatever magic Dumbledore had had, it had to be as powerful as the Dark Lord's to reach beyond the grave. A spell cast in life that was still carried out through the grave was something no man or woman should ever be able to do. Yet here Severus was, in this pitch-black forest, in the freezing cold, helping the Boy Who Lived kill his master.

His betrayal saddened him, but not as much as the thought of what he had done to Lily. How many nights had he spent sitting in front of the Mirror of Erised, staring at her? How many nights had he fallen on bruised knees, head in his hands and seen through teary eyes her hand resting comfortingly on his shoulder, eyes understanding his heart and the torment in his soul. These thoughts were the only thing that made him strong enough to help with the destruction of the most powerful Dark Wizard of all time.

Then he saw the bright light coming back from the depths of the forest, and saw Harry Potter several feet behind it. _Atleast he's got his wand out_, thought Severus sarcastically. The doe walked over to the pond where the sword was hidden, leaving no footprints in the snow behind it. Then as it paused to look back at Harry, it vanished.

"Lumos," he heard Harry whisper. Stupid boy still hadn't learned nonverbal spells; what had he been doing all this time? Not taking down the Dark Lord, that was for sure. And apparently not practicing spells either. Severus seethed with irritation towards the boy.

Well, he had done his job. So he stepped away from his hiding spot, using the obliteration spell as he went. When he was far enough away that his toes were numb and he couldn't feel his ungloved fingers, he dissaparated back to Hogwarts to trudge up to his office and resume position as Headmaster as long as the other teachers would allow.


	5. DH: Narcissa Malfoy

The sisters had always had a close relationship. That's what happens when you both grow up to be exactly how your parents had planned. Recently however, the two sisters had begun drifting apart. While they both believed in pure-blood reign, Narcissa had become less fanatical than her sister, Bellatrix. She supposed, on occasion, that if Bellatrix had had any children she would feel differently towards the Dark Lords plan. That perhaps, if she had had a child that had been used as retribution for her husband's failed best efforts…

She tried not to think like that. Perhaps it was, after all, better that Bellatrix did not have children. It would all be better at the end no matter which side won so long as her family remained whole. And now her family included only herself, Lucius and Draco. They were one unit who wanted only to live in a peaceful high society, not one fraught with turmoil as it had been since the Dark Lord returned.

And so it was that the sisters had drifted, that Lucius had failed, that Draco too had failed though succeeding better than his father, and that the Malfoys had all lost their wands. Which was why, when the battle had begun and the murdering of children at Hogwarts had commenced that Narcissa was forced to stay behind with Lucius in what had once been a nest for giant Arachnids. She did not know the names of the previous owners, nor that they had names at all. It was just one more mystery to be unraveled about Hogwarts that she had never known when she had gone to school there.

She and Lucius stood at arms length apart. They both feared that if they stood closer they would embrace and comfort each other, and in comfort would come kind words that, though relieving to each other, the Dark Lord would disapprove of and punish them for. So they waited while the battle raged on, and then there was a pause and the Death Eaters returned. When they returned, Narcissa and Lucius stood slightly closer so as to not raise questions, but they remained untouching and silent.

They stared at Voldemort, afraid to remove their gaze since everybody else seemed to affixed to him.. They stood solemnly and quietly, not fidgeting like Greyback who stood across from them in the circle,

switching from foot to foot with anxious anticipation.

The fire in the center burned clearly and its flickering light fell over the crowd of the completely silent, watchful Death Eaters as Harry approached. Two giants sat on the outskirts of the group, casting massive shadows over the scene. Rowle was dabbing his bleeding lip, sitting on the ground with his knees bent up. Voldemot tood with his head bowed, white hands folded over the Elder Wand infront of him. He looked almost holy in this position, if you ruled out the black robe and grey skin. Nagini floated nearby, absentmindedly swimming her way through the glittering cage.

When Dolohov and Yaxley rejoined the circle, Voldemort looked

up.

"No sign of him, my Lord," said Dolohov.

Voldemort's expression did not change. The red eyes seemed to burn in the firelight. Slowly he drew the Elder Wand between his long fingers.

"My Lord— "

Bellatrix had spoken; She sat closest to Voldemort, disheveled, her face a little bloody but otherwise unharmed. Voldemort raised his hand to silence her, and she did not speak

another word, but eyed him in worshipful fascination.

"I thought he would come," said Voldemort in his high, clear voice, his eyes on the leaping flames. "I expected him to come."

Nobody spoke. They seemed scared. "I was, it seems . . . mistaken," said Voldemort.

But the words were answered as Harry Potter appeared magically out of nowhere and Voldemort looked up,

"You weren't."

Harry said it as loudly as he could; he did not sound afraid. The giants roared, making Narcissa jump slightly and all the Death Eaters around the circle rose as they cried, gasped and laughed at the scene about to unfold before them. Voldemort was frozen where he stood with his red eyes locked on Harry.

The stupid oaf Hagrid was yelling but Narcissa paid no attention, her eyes wide in apprehension of the final showdown. One of the two most powerful wizards to ever live was about to die, here and now, and finally, finally the Malfoy family would have their end to the war and could go back to being their quiet, happy family.

"Harry Potter," Voldemort said very softly. His voice might have been part of the splitting fire as a log cracked and fell in to the embers. "The Boy Who Lived."

None of the Death Eaters Moved. They were all waiting on baited breath. Voldemort raised his wand, his head tilted slightly to one side like a curious child wondering what would happen if he proceeded. Harry was staring down Voldemort square in the eyes, not looking down at the wand that was raised from the skeleton like hands. The boy did not quiver, he did not shake nor cower. Nor did he raise a wand.

Voldemort had become so strong that the spell did not even have to be cast outloud. There was a flash of green light, the whooshing of wind and then a scream and two bodies hit the floor. The scream sounded like the final squeal of a pig being strangled. Bellatrix instantly ran over to Voldemort and skidded to a halt at his side before falling to her knees. Lord Voldemorts body had crumpled like a rag doll as soon as he had hit Harry with the killing curse; the second time he had attempted to kill Harry Potter.

He was unconscious for only a few seconds before he opened his eyes, the smell of the forest filling his nostrils. Bellatrix was whimpering beside him, stuttering his name with panic in her voice. She had a hand on his back when he slowly began to rise. All the Death Eaters were silent, looking onward to see what action they should take next.

"That will do," said Voldemort. The Death Eaters who had taken a step towards their fallen leaders now took a step away, returning to the crowd lining the clearing.

"My Lord, let me-"

"I do not require assistance," said Voldemort coldly, and Bellatrix withdrew her helpful hand. "The boy… Is he dead?"

He had to be, Narcissa thought. There was no way he could survive the curse again, not this time. The clearing remained silent. Nobody approached Harry but they were all staring from him to Voldemort and back to him. His word came suddenly,

"You," he pointed his wand at Narcissa and she yelped as she felt a small jab in her back, pushing her forward forcefully, "Exam him. Tell me whether he is dead."

Narcissa walked forward with quick steps, her body trembling. As her leather-clad feet tramped over the bare ground, she worked everything out in her head. If Voldemort had almost been killed by the blast but recovered, Harry must be the same. She didn't know how, but they were magically intertwined. Somehow he would be alive, he had to be. Why else had the Dark Lord felt so much pain and gone unconscious when trying to kill the boy. The Boy Who Lived lived again. Or maybe it was just her silently praying that he was still alive, for if he was alive, atleast the world she would live in under Harry Potters dictation would leave her well enough alone to raise her family and grow old comfortably. She hoped against hope that he was alive, after all he was just a boy. Just a boy the same age as her Draco; and if Draco had had trouble coming to terms with the fact that he was going to murder someone at age 16, then she couldn't imagine what a boy as noble and humble as Harry Potter must have gone through in reconciling with his own death. He was just a boy, just like her Draco.

She knelt next to him, her head leaning down to feel his breath. She put a hand to his mouth, and felt breath from his nose on her fingers. She kept her nurturing hands steady and pulled back an eyelid, saw his pupil dilate. She put a hand down his shirt just to be sure, her heart beating as fast, if not faster, than his. He was alive. She knew it, he had to have been alive. Something powerfully magical had happened between Harry Potter and the Dark Lord, and because of that neither of them had died. Or perhaps, Voldemort _had_ died a little, while Harry Potter had lived. She choked back a sob, wanting to thank Harry for living through the killing curse a second time.

She couldn't help herself, "Is Draco alive? Is he in the castle?" she mumbled the words, her lips barely moving. She said the words on a breath, not even a whisper.

"Yes," he breathed back just as she had and she sat bolt upright.

"He is dead!" she proclaimed, proclaiming herself an ally with Harry Potter though she would never admit it. Shouts and yells of triumph washed over her. The other Death Eaters whooped and clapped their hands, stompedtheir feet, and she went back to Lucius.

"You see?" screeched Voldemort over the tumult. "Harry Potter is dead by my hand, and no man alive can threaten me now! Watch! Crucio!"

Narcissa turned just in time to gasp in shock and horror, the realization that her lie was about to be exposed and her life would be ending by the time Harry hit the floor. But his body flew and landed at an uncomfortable angle, and he did not scream. Again he was hit with the curse and still remained silent. Narcissa stood and stared as she watched Harry's seemingly lifeless body being tortured. Lucius came up behind her and put a hand on her arm, and she turned away to join him on the edge of the circle. She slid her hand in to his, silently telling him that everything was going to be okay.


	6. DH: Tom and Helena

As happens with most teenagers once they reach puberty, Tom Riddle was searching for his purpose. However, unlike most students of Hogwarts, his search for meaning in life was entering its fifth year as he stepped off the Hogwarts Express. Young Tom Riddle was tall and handsome, with pale skin, jet black hair and dark eyes. In the early 1940's he would be called a looker and a smooth talker, perhaps even a cool cat though he was too aloof even with his closest friends to completely fit that description.

In his fifth year Tom Riddle was given the honor of Prefect. The bright and shining green badge with the giant P was pinned to his chest as he stepped off the scarlet steam engine and looked towards the towering visage of Hogwarts. It was his home and with the secrets held inside, he was finding his purpose and succeeding in the first steps of his mission. His mission was his and his alone; to discover all there was to discover. Not only the discovery of his heritage but also the discovery of all that magic had to hold. He wanted to control all of it and see how much there was to know.

Many weeks later Tom sat silent at the Slytherin table surrounded by his usual friends, Avery, Rosier, Nott and others. He used the term friends lightly. For now he sat deep in thought, a broodish look on his face as he hunched over his evening kidney pie and home fries. Slughorn's Club of Hogwarts best and brightest was meeting tonight for an ice cream social. He had already been in the club for two years and did not give a hoot about any new members. He had a question for dear Professor Slughorn.

It was not _the_ question of course. No, that would come later after he had done more research. But for now, he had to get information on the house ghosts. It was widely known that Nearly Headless Nick became a ghost in the late 1490's, and of course the Bloody Baron had been around since the creation of Hogwarts. The Fat Friar had become a ghost at the time at the founding fathers; Tom had worked this out by looking up pictures of traditional priest garb at the local muggle library during his summer vacation. However, the ghost he really wanted to know about was the Grey Lady. She was never one for meaningless conversation though she was known to help members of her own house who had misplaced items or were lost. She still remained bitter and somewhat timid in her demeanor. It was this ghost that Tom wanted to talk to.

So that night, Tom asked Professor Slughorn about her. As Tom suspected, Slug knew nothing of the ghosts but directed Tom to the ghosts themselves.

"Why don't you try asking them, Tom m'boy?" was his final response when he couldn't give a satisfactory answer to Tom's persistent questioning.

And that was exactly what Tom did.

It would take a while; months, perhaps even years. But he would whittle away at the Grey Lady; if she had been the Grey Lord that may have been a different story. But Tom knew of his congeniality and his charming allure and would use it to his advantage. Every day thereafter he went out of his way to say hello to the Grey Lady. At first she replied with only a simple, "Good day," or "same to you."

It was particular to Helena Ravenclaw, the Grey Lady, that the good looking orphan Prefect would be greeting her every time he saw her. Which, now that she thought about it, seemed to be every day or nearly so. She made basically the same patterns every day, wandering through hallways or cutting through a wall to get to her favorite quiet and dusty classroom on the sixth floor. There were never any classes on this floor in the southern wing, so she spent many hours alone there.

Until one day, a dark haired boy who always said hello to her peeped in to the very classroom she was haunting.

She looked up at hearing the creaking of rusted iron hinges as he pushed the door open, eyes opened wide in curiosity. He acted startled when he saw her, though in reality he had been following her for days to figure out where she disappeared to.

"I didn't think there was anybody up here, my apologies."

"It's alright." She responded shyly, though bad him entrance with a wave of her hand.

His footprints cut through dust that had been undisturbed for decades. He looked around the room curiously, shoulders back, spine straight and hands clasped behind his back. His posture could have been that of royalty if only he had lived back when Helena was alive. She floated backwards absentmindedly, a habit of hers she had picked up only after death in case a conversation became uncomfortable. Then she could just slip out through the wall and in to another corridor.

"What was this room used for?" He turned dark eyes on her. But it was only their color that was dark. When she looked at him she saw a curious and slightly confused boy only a few years younger than she had been when she had been murdered.

"Alchemy, and charms before that."

He nodded his head, walking to the chalk board that had some faint writing that was now permanently glued to the dark green slate. Well, permanently without magic of course. He nodded his head in understanding, "When it was still compulsory for first years."

She nodded her head, weighing the situation and waiting for him to make a move. She was not stupid; in fact she had been quite intelligent in her day, though also slightly greedy and this had clouded her intelligence at times. Now she was on alert all the time and knew he had followed her here; why else would he be wandering in this part of the castle?

"Do you come up here often?" he turned his attention to her again, ignoring other unfascinating objects like the bookshelf with one of its shelves half broken and some of the upturned chairs.

She only nodded, "What do you want?"

The parts of his brows closest to his nose lowered and scrunched together giving him a scorned child look. "I wanted to speak to you. I didn't mean to offend."

"Well you did," and with that she glided off through the wall that was closest and rejoined the rest of the castle in more habited places. Tom wouldn't give up though; he had played it perfectly and would seek her out again, but this time in more populated areas so as to appear not to be a threat.

On Christmas Day he left a present for her in her favorite room. She had been back frequently, finding solace in the fact that he had shut the door when he had left so she would hear anybody's approach. But when she decided to get some peace on Christmas Day, the room was slightly disturbed.

One of the small book tables had been stood right-end up and a small vase with a single peach rose was placed in the crystal clear water. A note left for her read,

"I apologize for intruding on your privacy once again. I only hope you will grant me the opportunity for a conversation. If you do not wish to oblige, then I will be stand dolefully alone in the Viaduct Courtyard at eight o'clock this evening. Yours truly, Tom Riddle."

The lines of the T and R looking slightly curved like the body of a serpent. She spent the entirety of the day debating his offer. But at two minutes to eight that evening she was behind the final wall that led to the courtyard. The large entryway clock chimed eight times and echoed around the hall until it was quiet. She knew he was there but she didn't want to seem to eager for the attention. Nobody had paid her much mind since the Baron and they both knew how that turned out. Ten minutes after eight she finally glided through the wall, and Tom spotted her out of the corner of his eye.

It was Christmas break so he did not have to wear the school uniform. Instead he wore plain jeans and thick grey sweater, with a Slytherin green scarf, and his wool cloak around it since there were no fires in this part of the castle to keep him warm. He wore a multi-colored beanie with a funny poof on the top and black mittens. His breath rose in the air the same color as her person in its ghostly state.

He turned and smiled at her as if she had been the best news he had had all day. And to think, on Christmas! Certainly he had gotten presents, she reasoned. Then again, he was an orphan…

Her thoughts were drawn away by his words. "Thank you for meeting me," he bowed, and she returned the favor in kind by giving a half-hearted curtsey. "I didn't know if you'd get my letter."

She remained silent.

His smile remained on his face as he seemed to search for words. "I don't know where to start."

"You wanted to speak to me."

"Yes, I did."

"Regarding?"

The Diadem of course. But he couldn't lead off with that. No, he had already thought through the conversation in his head. She had most likely loved the area she had grown up in and he reasoned that that was most likely the British Isles. So he asked her, "Where did you grow up? What was it like? It must have been so grand."

"As grand as this castle, yes."

He exhaled in relief as if he had been afraid his questions would scare her off. "That must have been wonderful, to grow up around all that grandeur and-and pomp."

"Less grand than you might think." She sounded very matter-of-fact as she said it, knowing she had more information than him for once. He seemed like a smart boy, so he was unlikely to come across others who were in his age range but more intelligent. He didn't seem upset by the confident way she tried to get one up from him. In fact, he seemed downright intrigued. He took one step towards her and looked her in the eyes,

"Tell me more."

Helena Ravenclaw couldn't pretend she wasn't lonely over summer vacation. What with the castle empty except for the house elves and other ghosts, there was nothing to do but wait for the fall semester to start. Sure there was the occasional professor or Conference, but these were very rare and anyone who used the castle during the summer was there strictly on business and couldn't be bothered with chit chat.

So it was with more excitement than she had felt in almost a millennium that she watched the students file in to the Great Hall for the start of term feast. She watched each student, most Ravenclaws greeting her and she feebly greeted them back. She was waiting to see him, head higher than the rest for surely he had grown during summer break.

And then he entered the Great Hall, his gang following close behind. His mouth was half opened in a grin as he looked around the Hall, cherishing the sight as he always did. Though Helena thought it was for sentimentality, for Tom it was for the excitement he felt at being able to continue his quest which had now turned towards immortality. He had grown nearly three inches over the summer. His jaw was more jaggedly shaped, and he had begun shaving. Tom glanced around and saw Helena looking at him. His lips closed and his features softened as he smiled at her. Tom took his seat at the Slytherin table and his attention was drawn away by Avery in some mindless conversation.

Helena went a slightly paler shade of grey. He hadn't forgotten their connection. If he hadn't spent those two and a half hours with her on Christmas, she wouldn't have even known him. She wouldn't have spent at least one evening a week with him thereafter telling him all about the country she loved as it had been when she was alive. And she had begun to feel safe with him and their conversations. The summer had only solidified her trust in him; the ancient quote that absence makes the heart grow fonder was true for Helena. She then receded in to her thoughts and looked away from the devilishly handsome Tom Riddle.

Christmas Day came again and the castle was once again empty. And once again Tom left her a note asking to meet her, a rose the shade of pink sunrises placed delicately in a glass with all thorns removed. She obliged.

When she showed up at eight o'clock he had set up a picnic. This greatly shocked Helena as she floated to the meeting spot exactly at the end of the eighth chime, using a hallway this time.

"What's this?" she inquired, eyes wide in surprise and curiosity.

Tom smiled up at her and then rose to his feet. He was four inches taller than her now with an upright posture. She noticed he had no five o'clock shadow, meaning he had prepared for their… was this a date? She tried not to think of it; that was something the teenagers of the times did, not a lady of her stature. His hair was combed back with hair grease though it was not slick and hardened like gel. He had also gotten a new winter cloak that had green embroidery on the hems.

"I got you a present. I thought we could share a Christmas meal." He said eagerly, motioning for her to sit down. There was a jug of piping hot butterbeer, two mugs, a hot pot pie with two warm rolls, silverware settings, and a mysterious plate that was covered by a cloth napkin. She sat down with her legs to the side and her knees bent.

"A present?" she inquired slowly, raising her eyebrows in the familiar skepticism he was used to seeing on her face.

He remained silent with a knowing smile on his face, the left side of his lip twitching upwards in almost a smirk. He poured out the butter beer in to the mugs.

"What are you hiding, Tom?" She leaned in to ask, her voice warm and curious.

"I figured that, since we can't technically share a meal, I would get you something that you just might be able to taste." He picked up the covered plate and pulled off the napkin, revealing two very moulded slices of lamb roast topped with gravy and miniature potatoes that were all half covered in green mold. She looked up from the plate and her eyes were wide with surprise, a smile spreading on her face.

"And I had them extra, extra spice it so you can hopefully taste some of it."

"Oh Tom," she went to put a hand on his knee, but withdrew. She knew she wouldn't feel anything anyways. "Thank you, this-this… this is the best Christmas present I've ever received."

He smiled and seemed to blush, "I'm really glad you like it."

He forked a potato and held it up for her to eat, hoping she could taste it. He had already eaten and had brought out the food for pretense, but sipped on butterbeer to keep him warm since last Christmas he had suffered minor freeze burns on his cheeks from the cold. All this happened while she told him more of one of the hiding places she had hidden in when the Bloody Baron was tracking her down. It had been a cave in Albania, and Tom remained patient and interested since he knew he was getting closer to the end of her tale, and thus to the Diadem.


End file.
